


unsure sureties

by rohpsohpic



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Boo Seungkwan-centric, Character Study, Communication Failure, Established Relationship, Friendship, Karaoke, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Memories, Moving, Singing, Throwback, Waiting, booseoksoon, but not everyone is an idol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohpsohpic/pseuds/rohpsohpic
Summary: Hansol’s words are short. His eyes are big. His voice is raspy behind the thin scarf, as if he has been saving it all morning. “You’ll be back?”Seungkwan pauses, not because he has to think twice, but because he wants to take in this quiet moment alone with Hansol, the unassuming breeze and his boyfriend’s soft presence cooling his nerves, before he steps into the taxi for a whirlwind of promotions. His eyes are traveling over Hansol’s face, memorizing the broad planes and rounded cheeks that have lost some of their baby fat from when they were younger but are still as utterly Hansol as ever. Seungkwan doesn’t have to think. It’s not even a question.“Definitely.”But in practice, it's a little—Well.It's a lot harder than that.





	unsure sureties

Hansol is wearing one of his nondescript hoodies. His white earbuds are looped over his ears, gleaming like gentle stars between low-hanging locks of his dyed brown hair. Seungkwan watches him pick distractedly through his food and thinks that Hansol is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. Seungkwan’s eyes lower to his cup, suddenly pulled there by shame.

It is going to be all the more difficult for him to leave.

He loosens his nervous fingers on the handle and takes a breath to get it over with. “Hansol, BooSeokSoon is debuting.”

Hansol stills, then slowly pulls the earbuds down into his palm. Light quietly slashes off them. He looks at Seungkwan, eyes wide and attentive. “You and Seokmin and Soonyoung?”

“Yeah, the Boo and the Seok and the Soon.” Seungkwan is rambling. Hansol tugs at the earbuds, roping the long, thin cord between his fingers and unwinding it again. “We’re going to be promoting pretty heavily for a while.”

Hansol, for all his loud looks, is a quiet person by nature. He breezes through things without looking back or exchanging a word. Seungkwan remembers the first several times his gaze had passed Hansol over from across Seungcheol’s apartment, back when they were both a few years younger. The boy Hansol rarely looked up at anyone, earbuds plugged in and head bobbing to some trendy beat. Seungkwan has always known about Hansol’s tendency to disappear into a world of his own.

Hansol’s eyes get that same look now, like his mind is elsewhere, retreating into the earbuds that he fiddles with in his hand. Seungkwan knows that under the distant expression painted over Hansol’s face, his thoughts are running like the wind. Hansol says without accusation, “You’re going to focus on your career, and we should take a break. You’re trying to ease me into that idea?”

“Yes,” Seungkwan says, feeling the worries wash out of him when Hansol blinks and his eyes are clear and emotive again. “Yes, it’s a big step for everyone and I’m so terrified and excited for it. You know how huge this is for my career, and I do, too, I just . . . I know there are so many stories of people letting their careers come between their relationships. I don’t want it to come between us.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Like you said, I guess,” Seungkwan sighs. He leans back and lets his back press against the booth. “Take a break. If you’re okay with it. We might have to stick to calls for a while until the promotions simmer down, and then we might be able to go on dates again, but we should probably keep a low profile when all the hype is still going on.”

Hansol pulls at the earbuds wrapped in knots around his fingers. His voice gets quieter. Almost a mumble. “How long is the hype supposed to go on?”

* * *

Hansol is there to see him off at the front of the building. A scarf is pulled high to hide his mouth, the frayed ends blowing slightly in the wind that treads down the street. The hood of his hoodie is pulled low to hide his hair. His eyes, on the other hand, are as expressive as ever when he comes to an awkward stop in front of Seungkwan and the taxi that is there to carry him away. Seungkwan has one hand on the door handle, but he releases his grip and lets it rest there when Hansol clears his throat. Even the wind can’t swallow that sound.

Hansol’s words are short. His eyes are big. His voice is raspy behind the thin scarf, as if he has been saving it all morning. “You’ll be back?”

Seungkwan pauses, not because he has to think twice, but because he wants to take in this quiet moment alone with Hansol, the unassuming breeze and his boyfriend’s soft presence cooling his nerves, before he steps into the taxi for a whirlwind of promotions. His eyes are traveling over Hansol’s face, memorizing the broad planes and rounded cheeks that have lost some of their baby fat from when they were younger but are still as utterly Hansol as ever. Seungkwan doesn’t have to think. It’s not even a question.

“Definitely.”

Hansol nods and takes a slow step back, watching as Seungkwan returns another transient look before letting himself into the taxi. The taxi drives away. Seungkwan does not turn around as he heads into his new world. He refuses to turn around.

But maybe, just after the driver starts to pull away from the curb, Seungkwan looks into the right wing mirror, and maybe he sees the outline of a boy in a hoodie, a scarf wrapped around the outside, hands shoved inside his pockets, silhouette stretched and curved like his image is being captured through a fishbowl. Growing smaller as he walks away until Seungkwan eventually realizes that he has disappeared from sight without being able to pinpoint when.

* * *

Hansol is, as anyone who has seen them together can confidently say, one of Seungkwan’s favorite people, right behind his parents and sisters and maybe Kim Junsu (or so Seungkwan claims). When Seungkwan moved to Seoul to pursue his dreams as a singer, Hansol had already lived there almost all his life. They were by no means the first people to approach each other, a fact that can be attributed to Hansol’s private nature and Seungkwan’s sudden bout of shyness from being in a new place. For weeks, he was terrified of even leaving the dorm.

Seungkwan supposes he should thank Seokmin and Soonyoung, who introduced him to Chan, the intimidatingly young choreographer-in-training at the entertainment company they were in. Chan had been delighted to find someone relatively close to his age, and Seungkwan got the impression that Chan was mostly glad that Seungkwan would have no excuse to mercilessly coo over him as Seokmin and Soonyoung were known for doing. He found their jokes hilarious from the start, and they his, and Seungkwan thinks that being surrounded by people so sunny helped him regain some of the self that he left behind in Jeju. Seungkwan supposes that he should also thank Chan for introducing him to Seungcheol, and Seungkwan supposes that he should thank Seungcheol, too, because it was Seungcheol who introduced him to Hansol when the distracted roommate walked in on him practicing. Hansol’s eyes were wide, staring right into Seungkwan’s with one glossy earbud pulled into his hand. “That was you?” Hansol had asked, and Seungkwan had nodded, caught off-guard by being suddenly addressed by Seungcheol’s quiet roommate. “You’re a really good singer,” Hansol had said.

Seungkwan had been high off of that compliment for a full week. He remembers because it was, indeed, a full week of touching his mouth and repeating “You’re a really good singer” in awe as he fell asleep in the dorm he shared with so many other trainees. It was his favorite line.

You’re a really good singer.

Seokmin glances over at him from where the three of them are waiting before their first stage. Seungkwan isn’t sure what magical properties the words must have in order to be heard under the clamor of the crowd outside. Nervous energy seems to be rebounding off of the dark walls backstage, creating a tight ball of nerves in his throat despite all his vocal exercises. He’s just waiting for it to spill, and yet, Seokmin only offers him a calming smile. You are, Seokmin reassures him, and Soonyoung seconds it. Seungkwan nods, feeling tight in his throat for a completely different reason now and finding himself unable to reply, but Seokmin and Soonyoung seem to understand anyway. You, too.

* * *

Hansol is to-the-point even over text.

“I saw you on TV,” he says. “You looked really cool.”

That’s the extent of his message, but that’s all he really has to say. Seungkwan doesn’t stay up all night dissecting it, and he doesn’t have to. In a world where it’s hard to say what you mean, Hansol is the outlier who always means what he says.

* * *

Seungkwan laughs with his whole body, doubling over at Soonyoung’s passionately horrible dance. He leans an arm on Seokmin’s shoulders, the one that’s not holding the microphone, and Seokmin chuckles brightly and reciprocates by looping an easy arm around his.

It turns out that the three of them are not bad on variety shows, which is a more than pleasant surprise. After becoming an idol, the next move in Seungkwan’s big plan has been to become an MC. When he tells that to the hosts of the show, they laugh indulgently and give him tips in jest, but Seungkwan pays attention to the truths that hide in their advice, and his persistence must be paying off because after a few shows, he finds himself reading game cards, then facilitating Q&A sessions, then receiving special microphones backstage. Time travels fast when there’s no stopping place to think between schedules.

Seungkwan picks up the microphone again, a hefty-looking thing with a bright sign pasted to the front like a tiny billboard. Seungkwan thinks he’s ready to talk again, but alas, he is still laughing, and Soonyoung and Seokmin have the gall to applaud when he extracts himself to wheeze. He imagines that out of context, it might look like he’s crying, but he’s not. It’s just that funny. Finally, Seungkwan lifts the microphone and says his bit, his fellow members smiling beatifically. No wonder the fans like their shows. They’re funny, have always been, but something about having an audience makes them all step up their game.

These variety shows are Seungkwan’s favorite moments of the day, but they are fleeting and over far too soon. At the end of the day, the three of them are all burned out, splaying themselves over waiting room couches or sneaking naps in their van between sets or heading straight to bed in the dorm. The mood breaks, but sometimes, it doesn’t, and Seungkwan gets to hear Soonyoung and Seokmin exchange sleepy jokes from their seats. Most of these jokes can’t measure up to the things they say on TV nowadays; it’s like all their funniness has been sieved into this other part of their schedule. But there’s something intimate about telling these unfunny jokes, about Seungkwan letting himself fall quiet for once, about gently, sporadically talking each other to sleep. These are Seungkwan’s other favorite moments of the day.

* * *

Hansol is not one to initiate, never. There was a time when he would come out of his own world and seek Seungkwan out without hesitation, but now, not so much. Seungkwan knows that part of it is the schedule and Hansol not wanting to intrude, but part of it feels like something else. Seungkwan isn’t sure what. Their texts have longer time disparities. Their calls grow infrequent. Seungkwan always calls first, and Hansol always picks up. Hansol is as caring as ever, but he is also distracted.

Normally, Seungkwan wouldn’t worry about Hansol spending so much time in his own head, but there’s something different. There’s something changing, slowly but surely like clouds across the sky.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seungkwan asks, knowing that if Hansol really did, he already would have.

“It can wait,” Hansol says. His voice always sounds deeper over the phone, but he is as soft-spoken as ever. “If you want to do it now, though, I could.”

Seungkwan’s brain melts with relief. Hansol never actively keeps secrets, and that hasn’t changed. Hansol is a book as open as it gets. Sometimes, he just has thoughts that he forgets to share. Pages that he hasn’t had the opportunity to turn to yet. Maybe that’s why they get along. Hansol is one of Seungkwan’s favorite stories to page through.

Seungkwan is about to say yes, but then the waiting room door swings open and he’s called out. Lately, he has not had much time to read.

“I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says, feeling disappointed. “I have to go.”

“Don’t be,” says Hansol, softly, as if gently prying Seungkwan’s fingers off the phone with his voice alone. “It’s a show. Go do your best.”

“I’ll call you later.”

He hangs up.

* * *

Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung are in for a surprise when a mop of black hair comes barreling down on them backstage. Seungkwan’s first instinct is to start running the other way. He is halfway down the crowded area when he realizes that Seokmin and Soonyoung aren’t following.

When he turns around, he realizes that the mop of black hair is Chan.

Chan?

Hyung! It’s been a month, and this is how you greet me?

Seungkwan sheepishly circles back to where Soonyoung and Seokmin have captured Chan in a crushing hug, making quick little bows to the disgruntled crew he nearly bowled over. When he rejoins them, Chan’s mouth is open in mock indignation, but the edges are smiling.

Hi, Seungkwan.

Hi, Chan.

Hi, hubby.

Hi, honey.

Over their heads, Soonyoung and Seokmin have struck up their own conversation. Chan rolls his eyes, easily extracting himself from the hug. You guys are still doing that? Soonyoung and Seokmin, who have entered old couple mode, answer his question by continuing their impromptu skit.

* * *

Hansol is fine, Chan says.

They’re standing in line. Soonyoung and Seokmin had insisted that they treat their baby brother—I’m not your baby—but you’re only Jeonghan’s until you’re thirty—to a coffee or something. Chan (wisely) chose coffee, and here they are standing in line with black face masks pulled on like a legion of gorgeous caffeine-deprived, well, idols. Seungkwan knows that he’s an idol, too, but he wonders if he’ll ever get over everyone’s good looks. Even with half their faces covered, Seokmin and Soonyoung turn more than a few heads. He picks at his sleeve and wonders if some insecurities ever go away.

Seungkwan tears his eyes away from the other patrons and tries to focus on Chan. Our Vernon has been distracted, though, Seungkwan ventures.

He has, Chan admits reluctantly. Chan glances at Soonyoung and Seokmin as the line moves up. It’s not really my place to tell you all the details, hyung, but I think it’s more of a Vernon thing than any of this.

This. Idol stuff. Seungkwan caught that glance.

Don’t worry about it, Seungkwan, Chan says between ordering coffees for the four of them. Seungkwan sips on his iced Americano, absentmindedly following his flock out of the café. Worrying you is the last thing that Hansol wants to do.

Chan leaves before BooSeokSoon have to leave for the site of their next filming, a karaoke room. Soonyoung and Seokmin nearly spill hot coffee down Chan’s white T-shirt while trying to pinch his cheeks on the walk to the bus stop. Chan complains vocally, and Seungkwan is drawn into the laughter, too. It’s nice to see Chan again. After the bus pulls away, the three of them are still smiling but fadedly. It’s kind of like watching their new and old worlds pull away all over again.

* * *

Seungkwan should have seen this conversation coming.

The karaoke episode had left him on a high for the night. Soonyoung and Seokmin had been in a good mood, too, cracking jokes all the way into the kitchen while Seungkwan set up camp in the living room. He thought it was, all in all, a good wrap. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Soonyoung sneak up on him while he is scrolling through his Gallery.

Boo!

Boo Seungkwan! Seungkwan yelps, falling over sideways on the couch and pressing his phone to his chest. Later, he’ll be embarrassed and more than a little confused that his knee-jerk reaction is to shout his own name. Right now, he’s wondering if Soonyoung saw the pictures on his phone.

Who’s that?

Soonyoung did. His eyes are slightly widened, like a curious hamster or forest creature, and he tilts his head to indicate the phone that Seungkwan is clutching to his chest. Seungkwan can feel his heart pounding against it. Guilt is the one emotion that he has never been able to hide from any camera.

Seungkwan didn’t mean to not tell Soonyoung and Seokmin about Hansol. It’s just not something that ever came up in conversation, and by the time Seungkwan realized that it had slipped his mind, they were already so busy with schedules that Seungkwan saw no point in bringing it up.

And now it’s up. Seungkwan can’t seem to look away from Soonyoung’s famous 10:10 eyes. He swallows thickly.

“Hansol.”

That, that makes it real.

I think Chan’s mentioned him before. A friend of a friend or something, Soonyoung nods. Soonyoung glances at the phone, then looks Seungkwan in the eye. There’s something soft and understanding in his expression that Seungkwan isn’t used to seeing in this hyung except maybe around Seokmin. Soonyoung beams. You guys look really cute together.

Thanks, Seungkwan says, unable to think of much else. His hands seem to be actively refusing to relinquish their grip on the boxy little device.

For once, Soonyoung takes this as his cue to rejoin Seokmin in the kitchen instead of lingering around. He pats Seungkwan on the knee on his way there. Distantly, Seungkwan knows that the two of them must be striking up a conversation, but all he can hear is the sound of his heart taking its time slowing down, beating against the steady glow of this collage of Hansol and him, borrowing each other’s drinks and half-hugging and making their own hearts into the camera.

Not one for wasting battery, Seungkwan clicks his phone off and lies on the couch a little longer before joining the rest of BooSeokSoon for their late night dinner.

* * *

Hansol is, to be fair, not the first thing on Seungkwan’s mind. What else would you expect? Seungkwan knows that he’s not the first thing on Hansol’s, either. No one thinks about sureties, and that’s what they are. Hansol knows it. Seungkwan knows it. Everyone knows it.

But when Seungkwan has a little bit of alcohol between his fingers and his eyes start to wander somewhere beyond the hearty drinking competition that Soonyoung and Seokmin have started up, his mind can’t help but wander, too, to big brown eyes and quiet, musical laughter.

Seungkwan cuts himself off before he’s even buzzed, content to watch his hyungs devolve into some intense cross between a staring and if-you-laugh-you-lose contest. Eventually, they shuffle to bed, and Seungkwan lingers in the living room a little longer. He cleans up a few bottles, procrastinating, deliberating, before pulling out his phone again.

Want to meet up?

* * *

“You like karaoke?” Hansol says. There’s no context, no anything leading up to it. It sounds like a question, but Seungkwan knows to take it as an observation.

He’s just surprised that after the first round of promotions, this is what sticks out to Hansol.

“Are you surprised?” Seungkwan asks Hansol.

Hansol thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. His expression is what Seungkwan dubs resting blank face, but his eyes are unmistakably fond. His hair is a much lighter brown now, something that Seungkwan had mistaken for a trick of the light at first. He looks a little more mature somehow. “No,” he answers. “You like being able to sing what you want. You’re good at it, too.”

You’re a good singer. Even after all this time.

Seungkwan wonders if Hansol remembers the promise of later, the unfinished conversation of whatever has been circling Hansol’s mind this past month. Seungkwan doesn’t know if he should bring it up. Seungkwan fiddles with the ketchup bottle that came with the table. They’re in the same diner as the day Seungkwan told Hansol he was leaving. It’s strange that Seungkwan is most aware of the distance between them only when they’re sitting directly across from each other. It was never like this before unless they were having an argument, and this, Seungkwan knows, is not an argument between them. So what is it?

Seungkwan wonders if he should push it aside. Something is different, but Seungkwan still feels the same sense of serene happiness when he is with Hansol, and Hansol seems happier to see him in person, too. That much is the same. Right?

He searches for something else to talk about. “How’s rapping?”

It’s quick, but Seungkwan catches it—the panic that flashes through Hansol’s eyes and disappears just as suddenly. Seungkwan’s hands still on the ketchup bottle. Hansol gives him a reassuring smile, but it’s a wavery one, and both of them know it.

“I’m working on my flow,” Hansol admits.

The clattering of tableware and clicking of chopsticks and humming of stoves suddenly disappears, leaving an echoing silence in Seungkwan’s ears as the diner seems to shrink.

Hansol has never had to do that before.

“Hansol . . .”

Seungkwan hesitates.

For all his MC-ing, for all his variety skills, for all the recordings of his voice that have been dominating the airwaves with the rest of BooSeokSoon for consecutive weeks, when confronted with one of his favorite people in this world, Seungkwan can’t think of what to say. Seungkwan, in short, freezes.

Hansol doesn’t. He reaches across the table and eases the ketchup bottle out of Seungkwan’s grip, setting it down farther out of the way so that Seungkwan won’t be tempted. His movements are as slow and thought-out as ever, but there’s something softer about them. As he moves his arm, Seungkwan is surprised to see that the long wire of his earbuds, which would normally be trailing down across his body in a thin line, isn’t there. Hansol meets his eyes, briefly, but that’s all it takes for Seungkwan to realize that although their relationship is more or less the same surety and although it has been just over a month, his boyfriend has changed in a lot more ways than he can guess.

“It’s more of a Vernon thing than anything,” Hansol says, using the name he had chosen to use onstage. Chan’s words echo in Seungkwan’s ears. It’s like he’s hearing the rest of the world underwater and Hansol is the only thing that comes through with absolute clarity. “It’ll come back, it just takes some time and effort. I’ll be fine, Seungkwan.”

There’s that thick feeling in Seungkwan’s throat that he hasn’t felt this strongly since debut, and Seungkwan isn’t sure why. He talks around it.

“You better be.”

* * *

Seungkwan is, for the first time in too long, not being filmed as he walks into the karaoke room flanked by Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Karaoke has become a semi-regular thing among the members of BooSeokSoon. His muscles ache from their latest stage, but despite himself, Seungkwan can’t help the excitement bubbling in his chest when he sees those plastic microphones on the table. Light. Cheap. Perfect. Soonyoung pulls the door closed behind the trio, Seokmin immediately ambles over to the catalog, and Seungkwan feels more awake than he has all week.

Away from cameras. Away from crowds. Away from unanswered questions and uncertainties.

Seungkwan sings his heart out, and for once, instead of cheering or whooping or joining in, Soonyoung and Seokmin sit down on the wall bench and let him. Seungkwan belts his smooth voice until it starts to feel rough around the edges, the power ballad crescendoing in his head like an impending headache that never happens, until suddenly, the song ends. Seungkwan takes a deep breath. Soonyoung and Seokmin are quiet.

Seungkwan turned their equivalent of a game night into something strange and cathartic. If he wasn’t so busy waiting for the adrenal buzz in his head to abate, he might have felt some guilt.

But then he blinks, and Soonyoung and Seokmin are upon him. Seungkwan puts his arms up, sloppily threading them between elbows and joints to reciprocate the sudden hug. Imperfect. Regardless. For this ephemeral window, Seungkwan feels more like himself than he has all week.

* * *

Seungkwan is, between his dread to be done with promotions and excitement to be able to watch comedies all night and sleep all day and spend some proper time with Hansol outside of stolen moments, one massively anxious ball of mixed feelings.

Whoa, slow down, Seokmin laughs when he catches Seungkwan bouncing on his feet in the corridor. The show hasn’t even started yet, Seokmin reminds him, reaching out with both hands to steady him by the shoulders. Soonyoung squeezes himself between them with a teasing smile on his face. Let the kid be excited. It’s our last show. Seokmin reluctantly relents, letting Soonyoung wrap his arms around their shoulders.

It feels like they could stand like this forever. It feels like their first stage. It feels like they have all the time in the world and not much at all.

You’ll have to hold still for makeup, though, Soonyoung adds as an afterthought.

* * *

Seungkwan is tired but awake on the van ride back. It’s night, but rather than crashing as soon as he reaches freedom, Seungkwan finds that the sudden prospect of days or weeks or months to spend sleeping instead of napping and going out for the sake of going out instead of for the sake of publicity and watching TV instead of being on it and holding Hansol’s hand instead of his phone is more than enough to keep him from sleeping now that it’s all in reach.

We made it.

Yeah, Seokmin says, leaning his head back against his seat. His eyes open to look at Seungkwan’s in quiet satisfaction. We did.

Seokmin closes his eyes and goes to sleep like that.

Seungkwan presses his head against the headrest, turning the rolling of wheels and muted traffic into white noise. He can’t seem to convince his eyes to close, and he doesn’t really want to. He looks out the window. Beyond fast-moving cars and blurred people, beyond the slow-scrolling Han River and the noise of being on land, the night sky seems to stand still save for the silent planes that glide like fish and the few twinkling stars that reveal themselves high where the city light can’t touch them.

Seungkwan thinks of Hansol’s cheap earbuds and dyed hair.

It wasn’t a dream, was it? Soonyoung asks, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation instead of just starting one. Memories of daylight slowly fade out of Seungkwan’s vision, but it’s too far into the night for Seungkwan to be startled, so he just listens as Soonyoung continues. The BooSeokSoon thing, that really happened? We did that?

Seungkwan hears even breathing and comes to the conclusion that Seokmin is still asleep. Seungkwan echoes his words. Yeah, we really did.

Soonyoung turns over in his seat. Seungkwan thinks that that’s the end of it, that Soonyoung is going to go back to sleep, but Soonyoung has more on his mind. We should treat Chan to a proper dinner when we get back. He’s a growing kid.

What kind of dinner?

I don’t know. A proper one. We’ll figure it out, Soonyoung says with all the assurance that comes with such a surety. Seungkwan doesn’t turn his head, but with the brief lull, he can see Soonyoung glancing at Seokmin as clearly as if it were happening in front of him. Is there anyone you’d like to bring?

It’s not even a question.

* * *

Seungkwan is standing in front of his building. It’s later in the same night.

He walks past the curb where Hansol bid him farewell with a scarf wrapped around his face. He sees the curved glass of the wing mirror and the hushed wind down the street and the world of unsure sureties contained in Hansol’s gaze. He sees the taxi drive away and a Hansol from many weeks ago trek past the same slate gray tiles and intersections that Seungkwan does to reach his building. Midway, there is the diner where they had their first date and their last one. Artificial yellow light seeps through rectangular glass windows and casts faint pools on the sidewalk. He feels the clothes he didn’t bother changing out of and the cool night air on the space where he would have worn the face mask he didn’t bother to and the footprints of innumerable walks before. Somehow, it feels like coming full circle.

Seungkwan stands in front of Hansol’s apartment. The same night plays in his every fiber, the grand and the mundane. It’s so familiar standing in the street with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, gazing up in search of Hansol’s high floor, craning his head and feeling a kind of good ache that he has sorely missed. His ears buzz with so many memories and sureties.

Seungkwan stands in Hansol’s apartment.

Seungcheol is sitting on the couch with his phone in his lap. His eyes widen when he sees Seungkwan, and the only thing that raises any surprise in the back of Seungkwan’s determined mind is the fact that Seungcheol is awake and on his phone at this hour.

“Where’s Hansol?”

It’s then that the frantic buzz in his ears vanishes and he notices the silence inside the apartment.

The apartment is a bit too clean for two people.

Instead of pointing him in a direction, Seungcheol lifts his phone.

It’s a square-ratio photo set on a busy street. Hansol is there, squinting up at the English lettering over a store that another man is eagerly pointing out. The other man’s lemonade-colored hair and sweet face are familiar even if Seungkwan has only ever seen him in photos, has only ever heard of him secondhand through Seungcheol’s simultaneously endeared and exasperated stories: Seungcheol’s long-term, long-distance boyfriend.

Jeonghan?

But that can’t be right. Jeonghan is in . . .

Now Seungkwan is the one who is squinting. His hand holding the glowing phone still, Seungcheol carefully gauges Seungkwan’s expression. Seungcheol is the one who names it.

“New York.”

**Author's Note:**

> This thing has been sitting on my computer since July, and it's finally, finally here. (Now that I think about it, July might have been my most active month this year in terms of writing fics. I never knew I liked summer?)
> 
> And remember BooSeokSoon? YES. Throwbacks.
> 
> Anyway, it's the last day of the year on the Gregorian calendar (also known as New Year's Eve). 2018 has had its ups and downs, but we've made it this far. Happy old year. Happy new year. This sounds like a toast, whoops.
> 
>  
> 
> We've made it, everyone.


End file.
